I would very much like to move. I would like a fresh start in a fresh place. Someplace closer to the beating heart of a city perhaps. (Much as I like to pretend I’d enjoy living further afield, I know that having to drive a long way just to get to the grocery store that’s not even my favorite grocery store would drive me crazy.) I want to live somewhere new where I have not eaten at all the restaurants or seen all the monuments, where I have not memorized the weather patterns. I would like to know more things about a place than you can learn in a single visit. I would like to try being a new person with new people. This is more lovely in theory than in practice, of course. I would like a really compelling reason to go through my belongings one at a time and decide what is important enough to keep and what should go. I would like to box up everything I don't love and put it out for the charity shop to pick up so that it can be used by someone who would love it. I’m pretty good at that kind of thing. I have little trouble being ruthless, but it’s hard to get excited about it. I want to be a minimalist, but I’m fairly sure I have to move to make it happen. But . . .
All of this would hinge on a job change, which seems unlikely, and it would mean leaving a village of friends that I love and that I rely on for physical and emotional support. So this moving thing is an itch that will go unscratched unless something changes drastically. I will stay here with a problem that isn’t really a problem and maybe I’ll clear out that corner of my bedroom.